


An Evening with the Queens

by DMichelleWrites



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Married Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 18:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DMichelleWrites/pseuds/DMichelleWrites
Summary: The Queens know they walk intersecting lines of three different lives. The first are Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak-Queen, the damn near royal couple of Star City, who saved their beloved home from corruption and destruction countless times over. The second are Green Arrow and Overwatch, who slay criminals in both the shadows and life with nothing but their brains, brawn, body, wits, and will.  The third is their favorite one, mom and dad, where they find joy and laughter with William every chance they get. Here's a peek into their family life complete with dessert.





	An Evening with the Queens

A couple arrives home arm-in-arm after their typical nine-to-five. Who are they? Why is the public so fascinated with them? The lady kicks off her heels, leaving them knocked over in the middle of the room. Her husband picks up those suede plum Jimmy pumps and places them on the rug by their loft door next to his Timberlands work boots and their son’s classic Converse sneakers. He lines them up neatly by the front door. She tosses their coats in the narrow hallway closet without even bothering to hang them on the rack.

He bids the woman, who is practically his second mother a simple “See ya later.” and they resume their evening. In here, at home, this life they lead may seem utterly mundane, but to this family, a quiet sense of domesticity brings them real peace.

“Hey, buddy, how was school?” His father greets, heading toward to the kitchen.

The boy shrugs, mumbling lines from Romeo & Juliet. Though his step-mother notes a slight flush cross his cheeks.

“Earth to William.” His step-mother heeds, bare feet padding the hardwood floor as she heads towards him. “Hey, teenager, you there?”

The sun dips low into the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of pinks and oranges, which shines from their floor-to-ceiling windows. After a long moment, William looks up, pursing his lips and biting the lower one with a shy smile.

“I..um.” His foot brushes against his ankle nervously, much like his ol’ man.

With a quirk of his eyebrow, his dad stops dicing the tomatoes, asking, “How was that kiss with your Juliet?”

Their teenager’s cheeks burn bright red.

William offers, “It was nice.”

“And were you a gentleman?” His step-mother inquires, squeezing his shoulder.

Her step-son promises, “Of course, Felicity. I swear, and well, no one laughed. Zoe didn’t run away, so that’s a good sign.”

Stirring the freshly made sauce, Oliver leaves the red gravy to simmer, “You really like her, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” mumbles their son.

Felicity surmises, lightly prodding his side, “Huh? I think it’s a little more than maybe.”

Will’s parents swear they hear the young man cough out a “Yes,” although they don’t push the subject any further to avoid pure utter embarrassment. William finds sanctuary in the kitchen, sneakers squeaking against the floor as he escapes like an anxious bunny hiding from a wolf.

“Dad, I can make the pasta, if you want.”

Ruffling his hair, Oliver says, “I’d love that. Remember kiddo...”

“ _Oliver_.”

He clears his throat, “Right. Remember, young man, salt the water, so it tastes like it’s from the ocean.”

“Got it.”

Felicity hugs her man from behind before she hops up onto the counter by the dishwasher.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Felicity questions in a cheeky manner, already knowing the answer full-well.

William and Oliver protest a bit too quickly for her liking, “ _No_!”

Her boys exchange worried glances. To be fair, the last time Felicity attempted to cook spaghetti bolognese, an unfortunate mix-up occurred with oregano and marijuana leaves. It led to three emergency trips to Starling General. Their trusted friend, Dr. Lisa Schwartz worked overtime, and it took a day of detox until the canibus made its ways out of their systems.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’ve been practicing.” Felicity scoffs, pitch rising, “And now I’ll remember not to go to any vegetable stand in the Glades.”

William appeases, “We still need drinks.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The blonde tech mogul waves off, “I know.”

Felicity stands on her tippy toes reaching avocado green bowls and blue placemats followed utensils in the drawer. She sets three places, surprised they have matching cutlery this month. Somehow, a spoon or fork tends to accidentally find their way to the trash every now and again. Glasses clink when she grabs a flute for herself, her husband’s favorite light beer in a green bottle with a maroon label, and a can of lemon lime soda for William. After pouring herself a glass of Merlot, Felicity tells her boys they better get here quickly before dinner gets cold with a sole flick of her gaze.

“Thank you.” Oliver ducks down, leaving a lingering kiss on her lips. Felicity cranes up her neck just to reach him.

William’s lips tick up, sitting on Felicity’s left. When his parents finally come up for air, he chuckles, and Felicity joins in at the sight of Oliver’s lips. The sound of their harmonious laughter is one of Oliver’s favorite songs.

“Uh, Hon,” his wife points out mid-giggle.

“What?”

His son playfully teases, “You’ve got a little…” He circles his mouth, gesturing to the hot creamy pink smear on his lips.

“I think red is more his color,” adds Felicity, holding her stomach from laughter.

“Definitely.”

The mother-son duo high-fives, meeting Oliver’s feigned grumpy growl.

He insists with an indignant huff, “I think it works for me.”

“Okay.” The hacker extraordinaire mutters under her breath, which echoes William’s “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Oliver beams, “Look at that, Felicity. William even remembered to nest the pasta just like I taught him.”

“Good job, buddy.”

However, what really matters to Felicity is how it tastes. It is really sexy to be home with a hot guy, who can cook as her mother always says. Oliver wipes the lipstick stain from his mouth before they finally begin eating.

“Did I get it?” Oliver puckers his lips, “Is it all gone?”

His wife hums, stealing another kiss, “Mm-hm, you’re good. I like you better naked anyway.”

“Oh, geez, Felicity.” William cringes, scooting his chair away from the table, “May I please eat dinner in my room instead?”

His parents warn in unison, “No, you may not.”

“Well, may I be excused from the table, so I can play video games? I do have the high score on Overwatch.”

“No, William Connor Clayton-Queen, you know the rules, wherever we are, we eat dinner all together as a family.” His step-mother reminds, “By n… Well, you know. I meant your dad’s lips.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, their son groans, “Too much talking about it. Let’s change the subject, please I beg of you.”

“How are you other classes going?”

“Mrs. Epstein hates me.”

Felicity berates, “Sarah Epstein’s mother, always accusing my beautiful boy of cheating. I swear that loud m…”

“ _Felicity_ ,” admonishes her husband, rubbing her back. He subtly pinches her rear end, thankfully unbeknownst to William.

“Lovely, yet difficult woman is always out to get him ever since William one-upped Sarah in last year’s science fair.”

In all honestly, William’s a star student in all his classes. So much so, Oliver’s surprised William is actually in fact his son. If it wasn’t for his bright blue eyes, he’d swear that William is the love child of both Felicity and Samantha. Though William has more than his height and eye color, he has his heart — the purest part of Oliver. While their son has genius-level intellect like his step-mom, over the past month, Sylvia Epstein falsely reported that William is disruptive in class after finishing his coding class work early. Or she’s claimed William uses his family connection through Smoak Enterprises to cheat his way to an A.

Granted, William had some withdrawn, depressed behaviors while Oliver was wrongly locked away in Slabside, but their days have been brighter since his return. While it took months to get back to normal, life feels good again. They go on about their meals, Felicity re-tells a joke Smoak Enterprises nanotechnology department manager told her about an ant. Her husband and step-son don’t quite understand it, but they muster up convincing laughs anyway. Oliver recalls the little girl, who requested the fudgey chocolate sauce on her strawberry souffle be shaped into a smiley poop emoji for giggles at his restaurant, Archer’s.

They love this part of their day, even though it may seem boring to most people. To the Smoak-Clayton-Queen clan, sometimes it can be too far and few between these moments. The tables are cleared, and the dishes are loaded in the dishwasher.

William yawns languidly, stretching his arms, “I’m going to hit the hay. I’ll need it before tomorrow’s rehearsal.”

“Good night, William.”

Felicity chimes, “We love you, buddy boy.”

William slides the door shut. Oliver flips through channels while Felicity scrolls through her phone. Her feet rest on his lap. His foot massage becomes too rough.

“Aw!” Her husband shouts at the television, “Come on!”

His wife grunts, slapping his wrist, “Honey, my feet aren’t pizza dough. Lighten up.”

“Oh, sorry, Babe.” He frowns. His thumbs press gently into the soles of each foot, especially focusing on the heels.

She purrs, eyes draping shut, “I think you missed your calling, Mr. Queen.”

“You want me rubbing down other women?”

“Hell, no.” Felicity lightly threatens, “Not if you want to see our twentieth wedding anniversary. Plus remember, Mrs. Rodriguez’s crooked pinky toe freaks you out.”

He shudders, painfully reminiscing of when their kind, elderly neighbor asked if the Clayton-Smoak-Queen clan could scrape off her bunions and look after her cat Pepito while her ankles were on the mend.

“I was just teasing, Honey. You know I want to see our fiftieth wedding anniversary.”

“Sap!” She quips light-heartedly.

He continues, “Geek. The new _Doctor Who_ Marathon is on BBC America. Do you want to watch?”

Her brows knit together, “Is that even a question? Hi, have we met? I’m Felicity Megan Smoak-Queen, your wife.”

“And sexiest Genius alive.”

Oliver isn’t kidding. Felicity was awarded that silly title when _People_ and _Wired_ magazine ran a special concurrent eight page spread on the ins and outs of the technology conglomerate that rightfully bears her name. They sit through three episodes, melting into each other. Seeing his wife so happy brings him such joy, despite not being much of a science fiction fan. He listens to every fact and all the childhood memories she gets while watching her favorite television show. Her phone dings with a slew of notifications.

“Ugh, I thought I put my baby on vibrate.”

This cellphone really is ‘her baby’. It’s the first model in the SQ Tech line. It has a sleek and vibrant design that comes in an array of colors with a storage compacity that rivals the most well-equipped laptops. Oh, wait, Felicity builds those too from the circuits up. She grabs the sky blue device with a panda design — the screen glow highlighting her face. Felicity’s eyebrows crinkle, sighing heavily.

“You alright, Honey?”

She gives a half-hearted, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Talk to me,” her husband prompts, cupping her face delicately.

Felicity directs, “Just look.”

The tabloids are rampant over Star City’s first family and their rise back to the top. One magazine claims their autumn vacation to Aruba over Thanksgiving is “the final attempt to save their marriage.” Another is reporting on baby troubles, the latter of which is half-true, but they certainly don’t need ravenous paparazzi rats sticking their noses in Queen family business.

“To hell the with them.” Oliver curses lowly.

He scrolls through a gallery of photos of them on the beach and in the water. One set looks as if they were taken by a long-range camera lens, in spite of that, the clarity is astounding. She’s topless, and he’s applying sunblock all over her back, adorning the freckles and dark spots she hates with butterfly kisses. His free hand is dangerously close to her floral bikini bottom, fingers caressing her inner thighs. The other sets are the three of them at the park by Starling Bridge. Or they’re simply walking through Shower, Sink, & Stuff for new bathmats while some wretched magazine accentuates the three tacos Felicity had for lunch, spouting out rumors of a baby bump. Each moment was intimate in their own right, not meant to be tabloid fodder.

“There’s a law against photographing minors. I just thought you should know, but we’ll deal with this in morning.” Felicity shrugs, surprisingly calm about the whole ordeal.

This has happened so many times, regardless of having cloaking-device technology, and wealth that rivals the Youngs in Singapore that this privacy breach simply festers into a mere annoyance for Felicity.

“Felicity, we have to do something.”

“We will, Oliver. Come back into our safe, happy bubble.”

“But...”

She pouts, jutting out her lip, “Please for me.”

“Okay, more of The Doctor, it is.”

Felicity shakes her head, frazzled curls bouncing every which way. If they’re being honest, the Queens know they walk intersecting lines of three different lives. The first are Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak-Queen, the damn near royal couple of Star City, who saved their beloved home from corruption and destruction countless times over. The second are Green Arrow and Overwatch, who slay criminals in both the shadows and life with nothing but their brains, brawn, body, wits, and will. ( _Okay, and a lot of fun new weapons tech faithfully designed by the most brilliant woman he knows_ ). The third is their favorite one, mom and dad, where they find joy and laughter with William every chance they get.

“Let’s go get ready for bed.”

Her intention leaves little to be misconstrued. It’s in the little things — a seductive dip in her voice, fingertips sneaking in his shirt, and her confident, even gaze.

Although, sometimes Oliver can’t believe Felicity passes up her Dr. Who excitement for sex. This moment doesn’t need to be “Oh, my God, I almost lost you.” life-affirming lovemaking. Nor is it out of anger, or their post-coital bliss after sparring a few rounds. This is loving, slow, relaxing fun time together out of a pure need for comfort after a crazy week. Felicity leads her husband to their en-suite bathroom without a word. Oliver will go with his wife anywhere.

“Could you…?” Her man wonders, dimples pooling in his cheeks as he points a finger at the Star City Stags shirt she often pilfers, “Or do you want me to help with that?”

“No, you first.”

He flashes his abs, pulling his shirt back down.

“Funny guy, huh.” Felicity mentions, voice laced with sass. “I can take care of myself, or did you forget or shower our dual shower heads have a massage setting? And you know I have _very_ fast nimble fingers.”

“Okay, okay.” He squeaks, feeling blood rush down south.

Oliver whips off his shirt like it’s on fire. His sweatpants drop to the tiled floor in an instant. Felicity smirks, feeling quite pleased with herself. But then, she watches the ebb and flow of his breath, his scars carved into rock solid muscle. She chews on her lower lip, salaciously playing the hem of what is her husband’s oversized t-shirt. Felicity yanks the stained cotton garment over her head. His jaw goes slack in surprise because his beautiful wife is completely bare before him.

“Aww, what’s the matter, Hon?” Felicity taunts, grabbing his chin, “After all these years, you couldn’t tell?”

He answers gruffly, “Nope.”

In his defense, it’s winter. Though Felicity tends to be more comfortable this way because their loft is always warm and cozy.

“Come here,” Felicity giggles, hand sweeping through her wavy locks.

The steady stream of hot water works over their defined muscles. Oliver and Felicity have really amped up their training regimes. Heat eases over every bit of tension. He squeezes a healthy dollop of shampoo into her hair. His calloused hands massage it gently into her scalp. He’s done this so many times when her recent diagnosis with Premenstrual dysphoric disorder when her heart and emotions anchor Felicity to her side of the bed. Or other times, Oliver finds her sobbing in the shower on what is normally a picturesque day. He uses the body wash next, tending to her skin with the utmost care. She turns to him, lips pressing against the scar, where his Bratva tattoo once remained.

He whispers, “I love you too.”

Felicity gives the same treatment, soaping up his body inch by inch. He throws his head back, growing at the sensation of her fingertips against the patch of burnt skin that marks his lower back. She climbs her husband, akin to a koala and eucalyptus tree. Despite their slick bodies, they are both thankful she didn’t slip and fall. He holds her tightly against his torso.

“Hi, stranger.” Her breath ghosts over him.

“Hey.”

They share a heated frenzy of passionate kisses. Felicity nips at his neck the moment he gets hard against her sex. The couple rinses off and barely take time to towel dry.

Moonlight filters in from a sliver in the curtain.

“Oliver?”

“Hm?” He responds in between two kisses.

She insists, nuzzling his nose, “Take me to bed.”

Oliver lays his wife in the center of their California king-sized bed. Her damp hair fans out over their pillows. He gazes at her, eyes mingling with love and lust. His knees hit the mattress, a smile crosses his lips as he admires the woman, who’s angelic and sinful all at once.

“You look beautiful.” Oliver sighs, lips descending along her neck, “You always do.”

Felicity stifles a laugh. Her eyebrows crinkle in disbelief. He steals another glance, but rather than tell her, Oliver shows her. He kisses every from head to toe until she craves more of him.

“I want you, Oliver now.” Felicity says, the request coming out in a wanton breath.

“I’ve got you, Baby.”

“Good.” She demands, tugging lightly at his hair. “So do something about it.”

He huffs out a chuckle. His fingertips trace over her inner thigh. Felicity growls in annoyance, resembling his Green Arrow tone. Oliver nips playfully at her bottom lip before he spears his tongue inside her mouth. He works two digits into her sweltering heat without warning. A mix of pants and moans are music to his ears, her back arching into him.

It’s only amplified when his thumb massages hard, fast circles over her clitoris at a maddening pace. His fingers curl at the perfect spot deep inside her, and her walls pulse around until her pleasure coats his calloused fingertips. Oliver looks up just in time to catch that telltale blush drape over her décolletage and that sexy little lip bite. He sneaks a taste, whimpers spilling out of her.

“You’re amazing, Felicity.”

She shrugs, slapping his chest, “You’re okay, I guess.”

“That orgasm sounded more than okay to me.”

Felicity eggs on in a singsong voice, “Maybe. Prove it.”

“God, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

His aching erection is painfully trapped between them. She works his hand over cock so slowly his eyes nearly cross at the pleasure they can only give each other. See? Now two can play at that game. He pulls her hand away, pinning it above her head.

“ _Felicity_.”

Her name is a wisp on his lips. She raises her eyebrows as if to say, “It’s about fucking time.”

Oliver positions himself at her entrance, thrusting in with ease until he’s completely seated inside her. They remain still, enjoying both the physical and emotional connection sex has over the. Her fingertips splay over his scarred, muscular back. He revels in the small feeling of her rings against his skin. Her legs cradle his hips, feet anchored just above his ass.

“Oliver.”

That’s all he needs to hear before he pulls out and enters her again. They adopt a slow, staccato pace. Eventually, her hips meet his. His hands tangle in her hair while her nails dig into his broad. They kiss as if they need one another for oxygen. He pushes up on his toes, towering over her. His pelvis hits her clitoris. By law of averages, he spills into her first before another orgasm ripples through her. It’s rare in their marriage, though it’s bound to happen sometimes.

.Oliver frowns, his forehead resembles an old washboard, “Baby, sorry, I didn’t…”

“Honey, are you kidding? That was perfect.”

He shakes his head, “Not for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you sore?”

“No, why are you…? _Oh_!”

His voice is husky, “Good, so let me make it up to you.”

“H-honey…” Felicity warns, trembling and writhing against him, despite herself, “I don’t know if I have the — _oh, fuck yes, Oliver_!”

He’s already tented between the sheets. Felicity feels him tasting the remnants of her previous orgasms. She wants to see him. Felicity throws the sheet back, marveling at the sight before her.

He buries his head between her thighs.

He mumbles against her sensitive flesh, “You’re so goddamn sexy, Felicity.”

Pleasure tingles up her spine in waves. He throws her legs over his shoulders. Her feet rest on his back, toes curling. His mitigated blue eyes never leaves hers as his nose prods her clitoris when he eats her out. And the sounds he makes, licking and sucking, sends her to brink.

“Fuck!”

His tongue riffs against her spasming walls. Her hand grips the back of his head so roughly, she worries she ripped his hair. She comes against his month. Her legs tremble just her body hums with sweet bliss.

Felicity crooks a finger at him.

“But what about…?”

“Just shut up and kiss me, Oliver.”

He does just that. She tastes herself on his lips. They moan in unison. Felicity wraps both her legs around one of his, laying on top of her husband.

His hand spans her back, caressing old and new scars.

They only leave the bed to clean up, especially because Felicity needs lotion. Beard burn isn’t quite as sexy the morning after. They climb right back into bed, limbs all intertwined.

“Good night, Felicity. I love you.”

Oliver went months without being able to say six heartfelt words to his wife, so he never forgets to now.

“Love you more, Oliver.”

She falls asleep on his chest, and he soon follows. They won’t trade any of these fun quiet nights for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews and Kudos are appreciated.  
> Say hey, and please let me know what you think in the comments.  
> Tumblr: [DMichelleWrites](http://dmichellewrites.tumblr.com/)  
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